As Bad as Sara
by Firebird9
Summary: A case hits a nerve with Catherine, and she realises she's getting as bad as Sara. Oneshot, CW friendship, hint of something more. Rating K


**As Bad As Sara**

**Disclaimer:** I do not now, nor have I ever, owned CSI.

**Rating:** K+

"Dammit!" Catherine swore, punching her fist into the door of her locker with as much force as any of the men. She regretted it an instant later, anxiously examining her nails in case she had damaged her manicure. She hadn't, but the thought that she might have done only served to increase her irritation.

"Something the matter Catherine?" Warrick asked from the door, sounding, she thought, insufferably calm, even slightly amused, in the face of her temper.

"He's gonna walk, Warrick," she replied without turning around. "That bastard's gonna walk: you know it and I know it."

"No I don't," he replied, still calm.

"Warrick, we have no evidence. That bastard beat that hooker to death and he's gonna walk."

"This is about your friend, isn't it?" he asked. "The one who was killed back when you were a stripper?" His voice was sympathetic, and Catherine winced. She was trying hard not to cry as it was, and sympathy only made it harder. As was her habit, she retreated into anger.

"Yes, dammit, it's about her! It's about her, and it's about every other girl who ever ended up walking the streets because she didn't think she was worth more."

"Catherine." He didn't say anything else, just placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her back to lean against him. "We'll get him Cath, I promise," he told her.

She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and leaned backinto her younger co-worker. At times like this it was easy to forget that he only saw her as a friend. It was easy to imagine…

She pushed the thought away and focused on the case. Warrick was right. They were one of the best crime-labs in the country: no way was this guy going to get away with murder.

"Thanks Warrick." She turned to him with a smile, grateful that he couldn't read her mind. "You're right; we'll get him."

He smiled back, watching as she collect her purse from her locker, his eyes following her as she left, his tongue silent on the words he wanted to say.

'It's not just about them, is it?' he thought to her departing back. 'It's about you. It's about where you could have ended up if it wasn't for Grissom and the lab and your own brains and determination.'

Catherine had never turned tricks. She had said it, and he believed it. She had danced, period. But still… but still, she had had a drug habit, and that no-good husband, and a child to support, and she wouldn't have been the first girl who started out dancing and ended up doing a whole lot more. And ended up like their vic.

Catherine intrigued Warrick. She always had. She was so tough, so determined. She gave the impression that she had seen it all, heard it all, done it all and not been impressed by any of it, and he knew that for the most part that wasn't so far from the truth.

And yet, she had a vulnerable side. She seldom showed it – tonight had been a rare exception – and he suspected that few people even knew that it existed. Catherine had a presence that made her seem taller and stronger than she was, and most people didn't see past it. Warrick did.

Warrick saw past the tough exterior to the vulnerable woman underneath, and he couldn't help wishing that she would let him in.

At home in bed, Catherine lay awake and stared at the ceiling. She tried to tell herself that it was the case keeping her awake, but she knew it wasn't true.

'Willows, you're being ridiculous,' she told herself firmly. 'You're an older woman, you have a child, you used to be a stripper. Warrick's just a nice guy who worries when he sees you looking down. Stop reading more into the situation than there is.'

She sighed and rolled over, wishing in spite of herself that he was there to hold her.

"God," she muttered. "I'm getting as bad as Sara, pining over a colleague like this when he isn't even interested in me."

She made a face and determinedly shoved thoughts of Warrick aside.

Eighteen hours later, Catherine sighed and pushed the crime scene photos away, rubbing her eyes tiredly. In spite of Warrick's optimism the night before, and the fact that both of them had spent most of their shift going over the evidence again, they were no closer to proving their suspect's guilt.

She looked at the topmost picture, which showed the battered face of a woman who had ended up dead for the sake of a few dollars. They hadn't ID'd her yet, but Doc Robbins put her age at late teens to early twenties. In death she looked even younger.

Tears stung the backs of Catherine's eyes and she tried to blink them away. She really was getting as bad as Sara, she thought: first spending half the day lying awake thinking about Warrick, and now taking a case this personally.

She sniffed defiantly. She would not cry, she told herself. And she would nail the asshole who murdered this girl.

She heard the door open behind her and stiffened. Bad enough to cry over a case, never mind having someone see.

"Hey."

It was Warrick's voice, and she relaxed slightly. For some reason, it didn't bother her so much to have him see her crying.

"Hey," she replied, turning to him with a shaky smile.

"You feelin' okay?" he asked, frowning in concern. She shrugged.

"Good enough."

"Well, you'll feel better after this. Turns out our suspect stopped for gas on the road back from where we found the body. Blows his alibi right out of the water. And that's not all."

He placed a photo on the table in front of her.

"This was taken by the CCTV camera over the counter in the gas station."

"Hi shirt…" Catherine leaned in to have a closer look. The photo wasn't particularly clear, but "… is that blood?"

"I talked to the clerk who was on duty that night. He says the guy claimed he'd had a nosebleed."

Catherine snorted in disbelief, and Warrick nodded.

"Now, you're the blood-spatter expert, not me, but even given how lousy this photo is there's no way those stains are consistent with a nosebleed."

"If only we had that shirt," Catherine sighed.

"We might not need it. Look closely." He pointed to the suspect's wrist, where something seemed to have caught the light. "What do you see?"

"Could be… cufflinks? Aaaahhh." She was smiling now, and Warrick smiled back.

"I figure, he probably got rid of the shirt…"

"… but what man gets rid of an expensive pair of cufflinks?" Catherine finished for him. "You get a warrant yet?"

"That's what I came to tell you," he replied. "The warrant's all sorted. Brass is ready when we are."

She was on her feet at once. "Let's go."

Their suspect was a careful dresser. He owned a number of pairs of cufflinks, most of them gold, some set with precious stones, and many with matching tie-pins. Swabs of one pair confirmed traces of blood. There was enough for a DNA sample. Their suspect lawyered up. Catherine suspected it wouldn't matter.

"Feel like celebrating?" Warrick asked as they filed the last of the paperwork and prepared to leave the lab.

"Why not? My treat." He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "To thank you for getting the break on this case. No arguments."

Warrick smiled. Catherine just wasn't Catherine when she wasn't taking charge.

"Yes ma'am."


End file.
